A Summer Siege (Medieval Romance) Read online

  “Aye, if you must,” she relented, bracing herself for his touch.

  His enormous hand enveloped her ankle, the bronze of his skin contrasting with the pale creaminess of her own, and she gritted her teeth as he probed the joint. The ache had already eased considerably and she did not think she had done much harm, but the graze of his fingers on her delicate skin was far more of a cruel torment than the pain. A finger brushed against her calf and she narrowed her eyes at him, trying to decide if it held any intent.

  A look to Tristan’s furrowed brow revealed naught but guileless intentions. It bothered her somewhat. Did he not find her attractive anymore? Mayhap he never had. Madeline struggled to remind herself that she did not want his attentions anyway as he drew his hands away.

  “‘Tis a little bruised I think, naught more.”

  “I could have told you that,” she muttered sulkily, her pride still injured. “Is Cariad harmed?”

  “I will see.” He strode over to the horse who was now considerably calmer under Thomas’ attentions.

  As he looked over Cariad, Madeline attempted to pull herself upright. Now that she was ready for the twinge in her ankle she found she could stand, but was unable to put weight upon the bruised joint. She stumbled slightly and in a trice Tristan was by her side, gripping onto her arm.

  Madeline attempted to shrug him off but he held firm.

  “We will not be travelling any further today, I fear. You are not the only one who has come to harm.”

  Madeline made a small sound of alarm. “Cariad?”

  “Aye, but ‘tis no more of an injury than yours. Though I dare not force her on for fear of further damaging her leg, and I think you are no more up to travelling than she.”

  “I am well enough,” she protested.

  He fixed her with his blue eyes. “Sit, Madeline, before you do yourself more harm. I’ll not have you crippled under my care.”

  She scowled at his words but recognised the stubborn resolve in his demeanour, and she let him help her to the side of the path, where she sank gratefully onto the dry grass.

  “Thomas, you shall ride on to Ashford with Lady Madeline. I shall bring along Cariad in the morrow.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “Nay,” Madeline called out. “I will not leave Cariad! Besides I believe my ankle will not allow me to ride on this day.”

  “‘Twill be a long night and we are ill prepared for a night under the stars. ‘Twould be far better for you to go with Thomas.”

  “I have no care; I wish not to leave Cariad.”

  Tristan rolled his eyes with a wry smile at her stubbornness. “As you will. Thomas ride on and tell Lord Reginald of our delay.”

  “Aye, my lord. When will we expect your arrival?”

  “In the eve of the morrow, I imagine. Now, off you go. I will see you anon.”

  Thomas gave his master a nod before directing his horse up the forest path. Madeline watched the young boy until he disappeared out of view and a twinge of nervousness struck her. She was entirely alone with Tristan. Her breath restricted at the very thought.

  This was going to be a long night.

  ***

  After seeing to the horses, Tristan brought over what little food they had and they sat on the side of the road in silence as they ate their fare of cheese and hard bread. The birds chittered and hopped between branches, but little else could be heard save from the slight rustle of Madeline’s skirts and the scrape of his chainmail. Tristan studied her profile out of the corner of his eye and noted the tension in her slender frame.

  Why was she so ill at ease with him? Was it her reaction to him she feared? Madeline thought she had disguised her response to him but he had seen through her indifference. When he had touched her ankle it had not been indignation at a bold touch that had caused her to jolt. It was the blaze of sensation that seemed to dance about the very air between them that had triggered such a reaction.

  He wondered if he had stroked his hands upwards, as he had so longed to do, would she have surrendered to his touch? Scolding himself for such thoughts, he turned his attention back to his bread, picking out the coarse seeds and flinging them into the undergrowth.

  Madeline’s quiet manner troubled him. Before her disappearance, she could talk endlessly. Not that he ever minded. Tristan had always enjoyed her talkative disposition, finding it a welcome change from talk of war and duty. Was it purely the torment of those events five summers ago or had something even more terrible happened to her? He shuddered as he pushed aside his loathsome thoughts. He desperately wished she would open up to him, but he would not press her for he feared she would retreat further into her fortress of detachment.

  A chill had begun seep into the air, the shady forest hindering the sun’s reach, as the day wore on and Tristan took note of the slight tremor that wracked Madeline’s willowy form.

  “Are you cold?”

  “Nay,” she said through gritted teeth.

  Tristan smirked to himself but said naught of her lie. Silently, he pulled his cloak from his destrier and wrapped it about her shoulders. She flinched under his touch before pulling it tightly around herself, huddling into the mantle gratefully. Madeline fingered the cloth of the cloak and inhaled slightly, as if taking in his scent. It didn’t pass his notice and he grinned to himself.

  “Will you not be cold?” she asked without looking at him.

  “Nay.” Tristan shrugged his shoulders and sat next to her.

  He was careful to keep a slight distance between them, aware of her discomfort around him, but he was desperate to throw all caution to the wind and wrap his arms around her. Nevertheless, he remained where he was, fearful of pushing too far lest he ended up pushing her entirely from him. He had to gain back her trust somehow, had to break through her barriers, and he knew he would have to be patient.

  Madeline glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “‘Twas warm today, what compelled you to bring a cloak?”

  “I know not. Mayhap I am loath to be parted from it again.” He gave her a pointed look and she quickly flicked her gaze to the forest floor.

  A gulf of silence hovered momentarily in the air.

  “Have you been happy these past years?” he asked gently.

  “Aye, happy enough.”

  “Why did you return?”

  She pondered this. “In truth, I know not. My father would have been loath to see Woodchurch in the hands of a mere woman. Mayhap I wished to vex him in the afterlife.” She smiled at the thought.

  “What prevented you from returning and bringing to light the truth of his deceptions?”

  Why did you not return to me? He burned to know why she had not sought him out after her escape. Had she been so angry with his inability to protect her from the horrors her father had inflicted upon her that she could not forgive him?

  “And what should I have returned for? A father that hated me? An arranged marriage?”

  She said this with such little venom; he almost failed to notice the flash of anger in her green eyes.

  “We did not know the true nature of Sir Edward. We knew of his temper, but you were such a happy child.” He gave her a look of regret. “Alice has told me much of your sufferings. If I had known…”

  A sad smile flickered over her lips. “‘Twas long ago and he is dead now. He can cause no more pain.”

  Tristan questioned how true that could be when the anguish seemed so clearly marked in her eyes but he said naught. Slowly, he promised himself. Slowly, he would draw her out of her pain and make her whole again.

  ***

  Madeline shuddered as she slept. At least, Tristan assumed she was sleeping. She could very well have been feigning slumber to avoid conversation with him, but her slow breaths indicated that she was fast asleep. He had been surprised when she had settled onto the ground uncomplainingly and begun to doze. There were not many noble women who would be comfortable sleeping on naught more than grass, and even he struggled to sleep out of doors
on long journeys.

  Giving the fire they had created a prod, he glanced back over to Madeline’s slumbering form. Still she shivered in spite of the warmth of his cloak. Moving silently, he settled next to her and wrapped his arms carefully around her back. Pulling her head into his chest, he froze as she let out a slight sigh, but she remained asleep and he exhaled with relief.

  Gradually her shivering ceased and the heat of her small body warmed him in more ways than intended. Her waist felt absurdly small underneath his large hands and her breath tickled at the collar of his surcoat, kicking his pulse into overdrive.

  With naught but the crackling fire and night creatures for company, he stared at the top of her head. Her scarlet hair stood out even under the meagre light of the fire, its flickering flames picking out flecks of gold amongst the silky strands. He burrowed his nose into the softness and inhaled deeply. She smelt of nature - a raw, earthy smell that stirred his loins.

  Madeline nuzzled into him and his heart juddered to a stop as her head tilted into the crook of his neck. Her lips were barely a hairs breadth from his neck and he longed for her to press them against his heated skin. Tristan chuckled at himself, it was a good job he had already resigned himself to staying awake that night for with this woman in his arms there would be little chance of rest.

  Chapter 3

  A twittering noise resonated through her dreams and Madeline grumbled, the sound jarring her from her slumber. Dragging her heavy lids open, she remembered where she was, as the sounds of the forest continued to assail her ears. As her eyes came into focus, she was greeted by the sight of tanned flesh.

  Tristan’s smooth neck arced in front of her, achingly close. It was then that she registered the feel of his arms around her, his strong hands burning through the thick fabric of his cloak onto her back. Was he awake? He must be, she concluded, for it would be unlike Tristan to let down his guard. Judging from the grey light streaming in through the leafy canopy, it was past dawn and that meant he had not woken her to keep watch. Did he not trust her to or was he driven by his longstanding need to remain chivalrous?

  She had dreamt of him, dreamt of his hands upon her. But there had been no fabric between them. His hands had scorched a path over her flesh in a way that she had never imagined any other man doing. Why was she being engulfed by such thoughts? Particularly when all she wanted to do was concentrate on gaining back a life that had once been wrenched from her grasp.

  A yearning to taste his golden skin assailed her and she closed her eyes, feigning sleep once more.

  One taste.

  One taste and she would pry herself from his grasp and forget ever being in his embrace.

  With deliberate slowness, she pressed herself forwards, breathing deliberately as if still captured in slumber. Her lips tickled at his heated skin and she opened her mouth with a sigh, darting her tongue out to lick at his flesh. He stiffened under her touch and she warmed as a craving she couldn’t comprehend began to pool between her thighs.

  The feelings startled her, her eyes flying open as she pushed against his chest and rolled away with a cry. Tristan looked as disconcerted as she and Madeline coloured under his forceful gaze.

  Attempting to collect herself, she sat up. “Why were you…? Your hands…you shouldn’t have…”

  Realising she was rambling she clamped her mouth shut and glared at him, trying to cover her embarrassment. What a fool she was to believe one taste would cure her of her need for him.

  Tristan sat up and ran a hand over his rough jaw. “Forgive me, Madeline. You were shivering; I meant only to ward off the cold.”

  Feeling ridiculous for her overreaction, she attempted a blithe smile. “Aye, of course…”

  Tristan’s motives would undeniably have been pure. The man lived and breathed honour.

  Standing and sweeping the leaves from her dress, she removed the heavy mantle and handed it to him. “‘I thank you for you care, though you need not have concerned yourself. ‘Twould not be the first time I have slept out of doors.”

  Noting the curiosity that burnt in his gaze, she regretted her words, wondering if he would question when she had occasion to do so but he remained silent. Madeline questioned why he did not probe her. Surely he was curious as to her whereabouts all this time? Mayhap he did not care; mayhap he was only grateful that he had not had to go through with their marriage.

  Madeline watched him enviously as he stood to see to Cariad, his lithe movements revealing no sign of insufficient sleep.

  She wrung her hands anxiously. “How is she?”

  “Well enough, though she will not withstand being ridden.”

  Tristan looked over Cariad with such care that she almost wished it was her ankle he was inspecting once more. Feeling her defences beginning to crumble, she found herself snapping at him.

  “Why did you not wake me? I would have gladly taken watch.”

  If Tristan noticed her ill-temper, he did an admirable job of disguising it. “I am ill at ease sleeping in the forests; I would not have slept anyhow. There seemed little advantage to us both being awake.”

  “You need not treat me as some fragile highborn woman. I am more than capable of doing my part.”

  “As I am learning…” Tristan gave her a wry smile, “But I will not apologise for my manners, Madeline.” He motioned to the forest path. “Shall we continue on? I fear I will become irritable if I do not eat soon.”

  He said this with a knowing grin towards her and Madeline resisted the urge to swipe it off his face with a sound slap. “Come then,” she said haughtily, “I have little desire to suffer your bad temper because of a complaining stomach.”

  Taking a sideways glance at Madeline as she led Cariad back towards the path, Tristan contemplated her touch. His neck still tingled from the sensation of her full lips upon his skin and he had to resist pressing a hand to it. Had she known what she was doing? He had thought she had awakened but he couldn’t believe this ice maiden would risk such an endeavour.

  Mayhap she had been dreaming. That would explain her startled reaction when she discovered herself in his arms.

  Was she dreaming of him?

  Tristan couldn’t help but cling to the hope that he would breach her barrier of indifference before long. They would be constantly in each other’s company if he continued to act as steward at Woodchurch. Surely it would be but be a matter of time before she accepted him as her betrothed once more? He was determined that the pain of the past five summers would be erased, and they would start again, as they had intended all that time ago.

  Madeline seemed determined to prove she was wholly altered but, as he observed her, he felt sure his Madeline lurked underneath. Simple gestures reminded him of how she had once been – she closed her eyes and tilted her head to the sun, her crimson waves cascading down her back – and he saw how she still took enjoyment in simple pleasures.

  “Do you enjoy overseeing Woodchurch?”

  Her voice cut through his musing and he realised he had been staring at her.

  “Aye, I do.”

  “‘Tis a far cry from the life of a knight, is it not?”

  “‘Tis indeed, but I have seen my share of war and care not for more blood upon my hands.”

  His brow creased as he thought back to the horrors he had seen in previous years. He had been fifteen when he had his first taste of battle in Normandy and he doubted he would forget the experience.

  Mayhap she sensed his thoughts wandering to unpleasant events because she interjected quickly, “And that of a lord?”

  “What is your meaning?”

  “Well, the living at Woodchurch is modest. You are heir to all Ashford; surely you miss the comforts of a large household?”

  Tristan shrugged. “Nay, I find I enjoy the solitude it affords.”

  “Oh…”

  He grimaced. She probably thought he begrudged her returning and invading his solitude. In truth, he only took enjoyment in the seclusion of Woodchurch Manor because i
t allowed him time with his grief. His parents suffered his anguish with patience, but it did not stop them from attempting to draw him out of his self-imposed penance, and that oft involved him being introduced to fair maidens from far and wide.

  “I do not resent you claiming your birth right, Madeline. Your return has shocked many, but I am grateful that you did. I am grateful to know that you’re alive,” he muttered as an afterthought.

  Madeline attempted a wan smile and Tristan noted that she seemed to have much difficulty in expressing any kind of emotion.

  “And what of you, Madeline, shall you enjoy the quiet living that Woodchurch affords?”

  “I expect so. I have fought no great battles but I have had adventures enough.”

  “Surely not! I recall you dreaming up all manner of adventures when you were a girl. I think I have not met anyone capable of such imaginings since.”

  “Aye, well, dreams are for children.”

  The disenchantment in her voice wrenched at his heart.

  As they emerged from the shadowy confines of the forest, the stark sunlight gave them cause to pause, their eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. Fields stretched out in front of them under an almost cloudless sky and Tristan wished he were not in full armour. Though they were not far from Ashford, in this heat, and at this slow pace, it would be an uncomfortable one.

  Tristan’s stomach growled and, as Madeline looked at him with mild amusement, he recalled an inn not far from their location.

  “There is an alehouse not far from here, just past the next village. ‘Twould be wise to stop and take refreshment. Cariad looks to be suffering.”

  “Aye, so is your stomach.”

  Tristan laughed and she blinked at him as if she did not understand his high spirits. Oh, how he hoped he could coax laughter from her lips once again.

  ***

  The inn was a small establishment, used mostly by travellers journeying to and from the coast. A single story dwelling, its whitewashed walls were tinged with dirt and mud and the thatched roof looked in poor repair. A small stable was tended by a young stable hand and they led their mounts over. There was but one other mare residing in the shabby stalls, hinting at the likely poverty of most of the inns visitors.